To The Victors Go The Spoils
by Hot Chips Are Love
Summary: Anima are underrated, but disrespected members of society. And finally, after years of hatred, humanity goes too far. But when the messenger of the king of the country decides to visit a certain slave boy cut off from his birthright, a chain of events leads to Cooro finding not only his friends and his wings, but his true origins


Cooro woke up abruptly and shivered involuntarily at the cold. He stretched his arms above his head. Well he tried to. A loud clang and a pull on his wrists stopped his arms from getting anywhere near stretched above his head. He whipped his head around and spotted the chains connected to the wall. He followed them with his eyes until he was staring at his wrists. Dainty, but powerful, silver hand-cuffs surrounding them.

His semi-bright expression fell and he stared sadly at the cuffs before he sat up properly and brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He bit his lip and tried not to be sad, nothing would come of it anyway. He yanked at the chains again, just in case, but just like any other day, the chains strained against him and made him yelp as the cold, strong metal gripped and pulls his wrists, undoubtedly leaving even harsher red marks than there were already.

A loud shrill bell rang out not two minutes after Cooro's half-hearted attempt at escape and he sighed in relief as the chains automatically detached themselves from the wall. He stretched his arms high up above his head, revelling in the satisfying crack before he threw his legs over the uncomfortable wooden plank he called a bed and walked calmly towards the door.

Cooro jumped back a bit as the door flew open, to avoid being hit. He stared up, a little scared, at the bulky man with the steroid-muscles who was glaring down at him from 6"2. "Well brat?" the man roared. "What are you waiting for?" he grabbed Cooro by the scruff of his black rag/shirt and dragged him out, Cooro hissing in pain all the way as the tight hold on his collar restrained his breathing.

The poor boy was thrown down onto the concrete floor when the two males reached the cafeteria. Well, they call it a cafeteria but honestly, it's just a slop-bucket. Where slaves are served slop food and slop side-dishes with the only thing actually edible being water. But no one really complained because you could only go so long without eating.

Cooro whimpered as the man kicked his back towards the nearest wooden, scarred table and he scurried forward, clutching at his neck as more whimpers resounded from his throat. But he wasn't going to cry. Sadness would get him nowhere.

He seated himself on the uncomfortable plank and unintentionally snarled when a boy accidentally brushed his arm. The boy pulled back and shrunk away, slightly frightened by the slightly frightening noise that came from Cooro's lips. Cooro smiled apologetically and caressed the small bruise on his arm making the boy sigh in relief and nod.

A thud next to him made Cooro's head whip around, but he put his guard down when he realized who it was. "Hey…" Cooro said quietly. "Hey." The small brown haired boy said with a grin at his friend. "Were you late again Cooro?" Cooro laughed. "I like sleeping, Tusk.' Tusk shook his head. "The bruises will start building that way." He warned and Cooro grimaced, staring down at the parts of his skin that were visible, taking in the angry red and purple bruises littered over it.

Tusk noticed and glanced down to, but he couldn't look for long, even the sight of bruises made him queasy. He couldn't stomach very much. He smiled thinly at Cooro. "Take care of yourself Cooro, or you really will die here and you'll never find your friends." The thought made Cooro wince and he bit his lip again.

Biting his lip had become a terrible habit, he wanted to stop, but he had to do it. Otherwise he would burst into tears. He'd been in this dump for six months, but he didn't cry. He never cried. He refused to cry. He needed to be strong, not only for himself, but for the people around him.

"Cooro….Cooro!" Cooro shook his head and looked at Tusk, "What's wrong?" he asked, shaking the rest of his glaze from his head. Tusk gestured a bit to his left and Cooro turned his head. His bottom lip coiled in disgust as he realized what they were bringing. "Roast snails." He heard Tusk mutter. Cooro stared at the disgusting concoction before shaking his head. No breakfast today.

He grabbed his plastic fork and bent the third and fourth spike back. He then stood and exited the cafeteria. A few others joined him. When you bend the third and fourth spike of your plastic forth back, it means you have no desire to eat and will begin work immediately. Snapping your plastic knife will tell the slave-drivers that you feel seriously ill and need to be taken away. Bending the second spike of your fork meant you will have seconds after you're done. And bending the entire fork in half meant you only wanted half of the portion you would have gotten,

Speaking is not permitted in the 'eating chambers' of the boiler. But of course, Tusk and Cooro broke that rule daily. Because they were rebellious. Well, sort of.

Cooro banged on the wooden door at the end of the half seven times. The door opened and a morbidly obese woman with tangled brown hair glared down at the small twelve-and-a-half-year-old. "Work." He said. The woman snorted and turned away, walking back into the room.

Cooro waited for about two minutes before the woman came back out, glared at him and told him to fix a pipe-leak on the roof. Normally, this would have been a cinch for Cooro. One problem though. As Cooro turned to walk away, the woman shouted for him to stop.

Cooro halted his movements and clenched his fists while squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for what would inevitably come. A rip rang out along with a piercing "OW!" coming from our favourite crow +anima. However…

The woman smacked him across the face for his noise and growled at him to shut up before placing a new piece of some sort of golden looking tape over the tattoo on his shoulder, to replace the one she'd just ripped off. She harshly swiped it making Cooro wince to make sure it stayed on before smirking at him and sauntering back to her office, slamming the door shut.

Cooro clutched his shoulder and whined pathetically as searing pain coursed through his shoulders and upper back. The pain was unbearable. What the disgustingly ugly and fat woman had put on his shoulder was the kingdom's own design. However, only the rich could afford it. The +anima obstruction. A gold type of tape with the Country's royal emblem on it that had a hell of a lot of delicate wiring in the paper that numbed the +anima's power, making them unable to feel and therefore unable to transform into their animal forms.

However, Cooro was in infinite pain when that…thing was placed onto him! He's been an +anima since the day he was born, and being in a place like this meant he needed more protection than ever, and his +anima wasn't there to provide the protection that he so desperately needed, therefore it was trying to come out to help him, but the tape wasn't letting it causing Cooro to much pain in the process.

Cooro fell to his knees in distress, clutching his shoulder and digging his nails into the floor, causing bits of wood to get stuck between his dirty fingernails. "I will not cry." He told himself. "Sadness will not help anything."

He shakily got to his feet and began stumbling towards the pipes to climb up onto the roof. If he fell, his +anima couldn't save him. The workers gave him high jobs to spite him, make him come to places he felt safe, reckless and relaxed in but this time, there would be no wings to save him if he fell. His tattoo pulsed again and his hissed again.

However, no matter how much they wanted him to feel the danger of height without wings, Cooro could never hate the high winds. He grew up in those winds, he lived in those winds, he thrived on those winds with his friends talking and chatting on the ground below. His eyes narrowed as he got to the ram-shackled roof that would probably give away any second. Without his goggles, his eyes weren't protected from the winds.

He wanted his clothes back, he wanted his friends back, he wanted his wings back. But he was Cooro, he never wanted anything that didn't do someone else good. So he did what he could then. He smiled brightly into the sky and clenched his fists around the handcuffs still surrounding his wrists.

If you haven't guessed it by now, then I will tell you.

Cooro, Husky, Senri and Nana have been captured.

And are now slaves in different parts of the country.

But Cooro refuses to give up. He would work hard to make this country a better place and find his friends to. Nothing would stop the black angel when he got his mind on something.


End file.
